


Belonging

by peanutfishies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Object Insertion, Omega Verse, Painplay, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutfishies/pseuds/peanutfishies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has finally brought Moriarty down and is bored. Lucky for him, there's an uncollared omega at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Koyomu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Koyomu).



Ever since the fall of Moriarty nearly a month ago, Sherlock had been slowly dying of boredom. The thrill of bringing down the biggest crime Lord England had ever seen had been exhilarating, dangerous, and challenging. However, if Sherlock had known just how dull the world would be after, he probably would have gone a little slower, savoured the victory just a little bit more. If he had known just how good of a job his brother would do cleaning up the streets, he would maybe, just maybe have let Moriarty walk away.

Instead, he was high and wasted at the pub, one drink away from getting kicked out. The bartender (single, twenty four year old male) was giving him dirty looks. The woman to his right (recently divorced, looking for a fun, no strings attached night) could maybe entertain him for a couple hours or maybe the blond man (repressed homosexual, submissive tendencies) could scratch that itch for him. He considered them and then sighed. The world was so tedious now.

Mycroft had recently offered to get him an omega pet. Sherlock wasn’t so sure about having a dependent around but the idea of a human being who would cave to his every will did appeal. The experiments alone were endless and the advocates against pets hadn’t yet been able to enforce animal cruelty laws that would stop him from the more sinister experiments he had in mind. However, the thought of seeing the same person, the same dull, boring, obedience, day in and day out made him shudder. He wanted to feel something. He wanted anything at all.

Which was why when he spotted the drunk omega in the corner of the pub, he didn’t report him. It was illegal for pets to drink unless ordered to do so by their master but Sherlock had just to take one glance at him to know this pet was not here with his master. Interesting. A discrete sniff told him that the pet was on suppressors as well.

“Hello,” Sherlock said, walking up to the pet.

The pet glanced his way and then ignored him, unconsciously tugging on the collar of his shirt. Sherlock wondered what had happened to the slave collar that should have been around its neck. How had the pet managed to remove it? Sherlock had never heard of such a thing happening before which only piqued his curiosity further.

“How did you remove your collar?” He asked in a whisper, directly in the pet’s ear.

This time the pet looked at him, wary, on guard and a little surprised. The pet’s hand twitched towards his gun (illegal, stolen, probably a Browning from the slight outline Sherlock could see) and Sherlock quickly gripped his wrist, causing him to freeze.

The pet didn’t pull his hand away, didn’t ask him what he wanted, didn’t plead for his life or try to fight back. He looked at Sherlock straight in the eye and waited. Sherlock felt a smile form on his face involuntarily. Sherlock quite liked the power. He didn’t want an omega that belonged to him and would be forced to obey him. No, Sherlock wanted this. An omega who belonged to someone else, a pet that wasn’t chemically obliged to do his every bidding, one that would do so out of his own free will. And if he refused, and Sherlock desperately hoped he would, Sherlock could do it anyways and not get into any trouble. The possibilities were endless.

“Scream or run and I will report you,” Sherlock promised. “Come with me and you will be rewarded.” Sherlock was hedging his bets on the pet choosing him over jail or his old master’s punishment. He placed a ten on the table to cover the pet’s tab and walked out of the bar without looking behind him.

The pet hesitated, and Sherlock felt that little defiance send a thrill down his spine, but then the pet was meekly following him, head bowed. Sherlock called for a cab and observed his pet while he waited.

The pet was shorter than average, maybe a couple years older than him, and dangerous. There was definitely something wild about him and Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was because he had escaped his previous master or if he had always had that wildness to him. For a second, Sherlock hated the previous master for having been the first to have found such a jewel.

The pet licked his lips but remained mute so Sherlock finally gave in to temptation and pulled the pet in by his hair for a kiss. The pet snarled against his lips but a tug to his hair had him gentling down. He allowed Sherlock to kiss him, passively, but his eyes shot out murderous sparks. Delicious.

“I asked you a question,” Sherlock said when he was done. “I will punish you if you refuse to answer.”

The pet looked a little dazed so Sherlock, feeling merciful, repeated the question. “How did you remove your collar?”

The pet swallowed. “I’m not a pet, you’ve got the wrong guy. I--”

He stopped because Sherlock had grabbed his balls through his thin pants. “Don’t lie to me,” he ordered.

“I never--”

Sherlock squeezed harder and then man froze, panting. Anyone else would have yelled at the pain, maybe struggled. This one did neither. He clearly felt the pain but did not acknowledge it or expect it to end.

“My master removed it,” he finally muttered.

“Really?” Sherlock said, delighted and astounded, releasing his hold. “It’s illegal to free an omega, they can’t live on their own! Your master would go to such lengths, commit a crime, just for a pet? And then he let you go so that they can go and die of liver failure. Why?”

Before the pet could open his mouth, Sherlock interrupted him. “No, no. Don’t tell me. I want to figure it out.” He gave the pet a heated look. “And trust me, by the end of the night, I will have you figured out.”

***

“I can deduce most anything,” Sherlock bragged, “but unfortunately, I don’t have quite enough information to get your name, nor do I feel like wasting my time with such trivialities. This one you’ll have to give me. Everything else is fair game, though.”

“John,” the pet said quietly.

“Really? John Doe? How interesting!” A pet who’s owner had been too lazy to give it a proper name and yet had cared enough to release it. An owner who had had enough power to release a pet and make the paperwork disappear. The day was looking up.

“Watson,” John corrected. “My name is John Watson. I have the id and all.”

Sherlock fished into John pocket for his wallet, causing the pet to flinch away and then stay statue still when he realized what Sherlock was intending.

“A fiver and a driver’s license,” Sherlock guessed before opening it and being proven right. “You wouldn’t have lasted more than a day. In fact, how were you planning on paying the tab at the bar?”

John looked away.

“You knew you wouldn’t be able to pay it,” Sherlock realized. “You knew you’d get in trouble. You were looking for a fight! Oh my pretty pet, if you wanted pain you’ve come to the right place,” Sherlock told him.

The pet shuddered but didn’t deny it. Good, it was far easier to reward honesty than it was to train lying out of someone. Sherlock pulled him in and gave him a sweet kiss as a reward. The cab pulled up towards them, interrupting this kiss, and Sherlock gave John’s lips a last little nip before pulling him into the cab.

“To 221B Baker Street,” he said to the taxi driver. “And do hurry.”

***

John walked slowly behind him, shoulders set and head high, but Sherlock could tell he was nervous. Sherlock strode purposefully to the door of his flat and John followed. Sherlock was half hoping he would run so Sherlock could chase him down, the alpha in him was itching for a hunt, but the pet was always a step behind.

“What do you need me for?” he asked carefully when they entered the flat and had walked into the bathroom.

Sherlock smiled. His pet was playing at innocent; anyone would know why they were there.

“Strip,” he commanded. “We’re taking a shower.”

“We?” his pet asked. “I can bloody well take a shower on my own.” John looked down at his clothes contemplatively and then glanced at the door. Sherlock watched him carefully to see what he would do. John licked his lips and then took off his jacket.

“Good,” Sherlock praised. Sometimes positive reinforcement was a million times more effective than even the harshest discipline. Sherlock knew that if he had forced John the man would have dug in his heels and been stubborn. But John was an omega and they were biologically made to be obedient and vulnerable to praise. John shivered and then took off his shirt. Sherlock smiled.

With the shirt off, Sherlock could see the crisscrossing of scars all over his body. John saw him watching and then flushed with shame.

“So you were a pleasure slave to a sadistic owner,” Sherlock concluded. “But also his bodyguard. My, aren’t we multitalented.”

Seeing all that skin revealed made it nearly impossible for Sherlock not to touch. Sherlock beckoned him over and John hesitated a split second before coming to him, looking very out of sorts and confused. “You’re wondering why you’re letting this happen. You think you should run but your body doesn’t want to. My poor omega, alone and discarded. You think you want to be free but you’re wrong. You never felt as lost as you did when free. You need orders, don’t you? What you crave is an owner. What you crave is me.”

John shuddered as Sherlock stroked his hair gently. “I’m here against my will,” he said finally, but it was negated by the fact that his body had turned molasses at Sherlock’s touch. “You said... you said you’d call the cops...”

“I don’t even have a phone with me right now. You want to be here,” he said with a proud smirk. It was the wrong thing to say. Immediately, John started to struggle, pulling away from Sherlock and towards the door. He had pushed too soon.

“Stop,” Sherlock commanded and John froze. His previous owner had trained him well, perhaps even thought he had had John completely under his command but Sherlock knew that resentment could never breed the perfect slave. And every scar on John’s body told Sherlock that John had disliked his owner.

“I’m going to have to punish you for that,” Sherlock said and John whimpered but did not attempt to escape again. “Hush now, it’ll hurt but just for a bit. I just can’t have you being difficult. But you’ll be good, right? You’ll be good for me?”

***

Several hours later and John was lying still underneath him, beautiful and his. His marks littered the pet’s body. A bite mark that he couldn’t resist on John’s hip bone had stopped bleeding but had unfortunately bled onto his covers. He had hickeys and smaller, less serious bite marks on his inner thighs where Sherlock had wanted to eat him up. He stank of sex and Sherlock.

“You’re mine aren’t you,” Sherlock mused. He felt possessive in a way he always did over things that were his. “Mine to hurt, mine to pleasure. You’re not even in heat and still so hungry.” John didn’t respond but when Sherlock pet his hair, he leaned into the touch.

Sherlock stood up feeling amazing and maybe a little sore to clean up. The touch of a wet cloth startled John awake but when John realized who it was touching him, he stopped mid-struggle and lay passively on the bed, even turning over helpfully so Sherlock could clean the line of dried up cum from his hole. He whimpered a little when Sherlock was a little too enthusiastic on his ass, which had already started to turn purple and blue. It was delicious.

“Say you’re mine,” Sherlock commanded.

“I’m yours,” John said gruffly, his voice hoarse, no hesitation.

“Every inch of you is mine,” Sherlock said, leaning in to kiss John’s nape then went south, ending at his lower back, where the bruising started. “You taste of blood,” he said and John shuddered.

“Please,” John panted, already half hard. He was so responsive.

“Please what, pet?” he asked though he already knew the answer.

“Please make me yours,” he said.

Sherlock laughed. “I already own you and therefore I cannot make you mine again. What I can do is fuck you.” John gasped in a breath and didn’t release it. Sherlock’s knot had just deflated after stretching John open for what felt like hours. “It’ll hurt. I won’t prep you this time, I’m sure you’re filthy enough. And my hip bones will beat onto your poor bruised cheek. I won’t care though. Your pleasure is irrelevant, all that matters is me. If I do it hard enough, will you cry?”

And John did, letting out an involuntary shout as Sherlock slid into his red, swollen hole, and Sherlock kissed the tears away.

“Hurts,” he whined softly and Sherlock knew what that really meant was more.

***

On day five, Sherlock still hadn’t gotten bored of John. John was such a delightfully strange little thing. He was a perfectly submissive little whore, gasping in pain and always wanting more. And yet, when he discovered that Sherlock kept body parts in the fridge, threw a minor tantrum and demanded that Sherlock keep the parts away from the food items in the fridge.

“It’s unhealthy,” he insisted.

“Hmm, trained to be a doctor. You must have gotten all the way to young adulthood before you were discovered as an omega after which you were put in the system. That’s why you’ve been able to hide your scent now. You’re on suppressors again though I haven’t figured out who’s providing them to you. Your new owner decided to make you a bodyguard instead.” Sherlock loved gleaming little bits of John’s life. And this time he knew to go slowly, making the deductions last.

"I don’t need to have a degree to know just how unsanitary that is. How do you differentiate between the mug that holds eyeballs and the ones I use to make tea every morning?”

Sherlock shrugged and John looked a little queasy. “You could convince me to label the mugs,” Sherlock offered. He was in a magnanimous mood.

John was on his knees before Sherlock had finished the sentence. He unzipped Sherlock carefully and then gave his cock little kitten licks, shy and slow. Sherlock decided that he didn’t much care for John’s technique and to punish him, shoved in, fucking hard and fast despite John’s gagging. When he was all the way in, wishing he could insert himself deeper than just John’s throat, he held John’s nose shut and watched as his pet blissed out.

“So perfect,” he praised. “Such a good, good boy. I could kill you now and you wouldn’t care, would you?”

John had frozen, his body desperately looking to get air. But he didn’t struggle against Sherlock’s hold. Eyes staring trustingly up at Sherlock’s face.

“If I asked it of you, you’d suffer anything, wouldn’t you? My perfect pet, John. So lovely. And mine. I own you. You belong to me.”

John’s eyes had gone a little dazed, a split second from passing out and yet still not struggling. He wondered how far he could go. How far did John’s control last before animal needs took over and his fight or flight instinct activated. Once he felt unconsciousness just about grab his pet and pull him under, he came. John’s mouth was delicious but his surrender was even tastier. He pulled his pet off of him and John gasped lungfuls of air, coughing wildly. Sherlock took some time himself to get his legs to stop feeling like jelly.

“Thank me,” Sherlock demanded after a moment. He grabbed John by the collar and shook him when John didn’t obey. John was too dazed and panting weakly. “Thank me.”

“Thank you,” John said finally.

***

Sherlock was fucking John with a dildo on a peaceful Sunday morning. “I’ve told you to come,” Sherlock said dangerously. “Are you disobeying?”

The black silicone was huge, easily the width of Sherlock’s fist. It had been a little difficult getting it into John is the first place and John had cried and begged him to stop the entire time. “I can’t. Please, Sherlock, hurts too much. Can’t,” he cried, taking huge sobbing breaths.

Sherlock took pity on him and started to stroke his cock. His cock twitched feebly and Sherlock sighed. John would never willfully disobey and that meant he was really unable to achieve orgasm.

“How many times do I have to tell you that this,” he stroked downwards, “is mine to command. You don’t get to tell me what you can or can’t do. Every cell of your body belongs to me.” He pulled the dildo fully out and then angled it so that it pushed right against his prostate and twisted it causing John to cry out . “Now do as I’ve commanded and come.”

John came.

***

Now that Sherlock had banned those hated white pills, John smell had changed from neutral to absolutely delicious. It meant that John would go in heat soon and Sherlock’s mouth watered in excitement at the thought. He had kept his knot, even deflated, in John like a warm glove the entire night and was now lazily hugging John to him. John had started smelling of him as well and Sherlock wondered if that was because he had accepted Sherlock as his new alpha.

Sherlock was looking through the daily mail, stroking John’s flank idly when he got the text from Mycroft sating simply, “Moriarty has escaped.”

John leaned over and read the text when he noticed that Sherlock had gone shock still. Then Sherlock exploded in a flurry of movement, giddy like a five year old on Christmas.

“John, hurry up. Today is Christmas and my birthday all wrapped up in one.”

He turned to his closet and chose out his favourite suit. He grinned dashingly at a pale-faced John. “How do I look?”

John didn’t answer and Sherlock didn’t wait for one, too excited by the prospect of catching Moriarty again. Truthfully, if he hadn’t met John, he probably would have released Moriarty himself by now. And now he had John and Moriarty, his two favourite toys at his disposal.

He turned to go to the bathroom when John attacked. Swift and deadly, slamming the bedside lamp against his head.

***

He woke up with an awful headache to the smell of chlorine, crumpled up on the floor like a marionette with no strings. Someone had carried him to this place and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

When he opened his eyes, the room reeled and he had to close them again to compose himself. 

“Hello there, Sherlock. Fancy meeting you here,” Moriarty said jovially. “I see you’ve met my pet.”

John stood by his side, looking subdued and ashen. He had a gun trained on Sherlock. Of course John belonged to Moriarty. The signs had been there but Sherlock hadn’t wanted to riddle John out so soon and had ignored them.

“I guess this means I’ve won the war,” Moriarty gloated. “I can’t believe you’d let your guard down around such a dangerously delicious creature. No, I lied. I knew you would. All I needed to do was get John to catch your attention and I knew you’d be putty in his hands. Pride is your weakness after all.”

“It was a slight miscalculation, I must admit, but just a slight one,” Sherlock said finally, gingerly touching the bump on his head. “You’re the one who’s making a bigger mistake.”

Moriarty laughed. “My pet, whom you trusted, nearly knocked the grey matter from your head and now you’re here, under my control and I’m making a mistake. Please enlighten me,” Moriarty said with a grin.

“I’d have to let you make the mistake in order for you to learn from it,” Sherlock said, missing smug by an inch because he was pretty sure he was mildly concussed and his vision was going in and out. John was a strong bastard. Sherlock loved it.

Moriarty’s face looked thunderous for a split second before it smoothed out to his regular, cocky expression. “I do so enjoy our verbal sparring, Sherlock. It’s the only reason I had John bring you to me instead of killing you on the spot. I wanted you to be here when I ended your life.”

He looked at the pool fondly. “Do you remember, this is the last place we saw each other, where you had me arrested. That was very naughty of you. I’ve grown overly sentimental, I’m afraid. I dreamed of this moment since my first day behind bars. I didn’t quite dream of just how easy you’d be though. Such a shame. But I’ve wasted too much time here already. It’s because I’ve grown so fond of you, as people tend to do with small, vulnerable creatures. John, for example, is very easy to grow fond of, aren’t you dear?”

“Yes,” John responded.

Moriarty looked at him sharply.

“Yes, sir,” he immediately corrected.

“The problem with having pets is that they’re just so stupid,” Moriarty said with a put upon sigh. “My darling boy, did Sherlock erase some of your training. We’ll have to rectify that as soon as possible, won’t we?” He turned his attention to Sherlock. “I’ve had him for years and even still he blunders. Loyal to a fault, though. Loyal to me.”

Sherlock looked away.

“Oh? What’s this? Did you imagine he was yours? Did you maybe fall a little in love with him? I told him to, you know. I told him to obey you, to make you love him. ”

Sherlock didn’t answer. On the inside, he seethed at Moriarty’s hand on John. He wanted to burn the touch away with his mouth and teeth, mark John as his.

Moriarty caught the angry look and grinned. “He is very lovely, isn’t he? And he takes the pain so beautifully. I knew he’d catch your attention. You know, whenever I was bored, I’d get two of my men to take him together. Poor boy cried a river but always obeyed in the end. It was beautiful.”

“I could do the same and he’d beg me for more,” Sherlock said simply.

Moriarty’s smile wiped clean off his face. “Really? I’ll have to work harder then. I’ve changed my mind. The biggest problem with pets is that they’re so high maintenance.”

“No, the problem with having pets that have a mind of their own is, perhaps, the mind itself. A robot would be more suitable for you,” Sherlock said. “John, stop playing and shoot him.”

Moriarty didn’t have time to react, the gunshot echoed and he fell to the floor, clutching his leg.

“What are you doing?” he screamed. “John!” He pulled out his own gun and aimed it at Sherlock. John was faster and he shot Moriarty, a perfect red bullet wound appeared right in the middle of his forehead.

Moriarty lay on the floor, a puddle of blood growing around him and his wide, unseeing eyes, stared in shock at the ceiling. John looked at him, as if unsure for a split second, and then ran to Sherlock. “Are you alright? I’m sorry.”

Sherlock shrugged, brushing off the invisible dirt from his pants and standing up, albeit a little unsteadily. “Don’t worry, I’m a genius. I knew I was never in any danger.”

“How did you know?” John asked. “I didn’t even know I was going to do that. How did you know I’d help you, that you weren’t ever in any danger?”

“I’ve already told you,” Sherlock said, eyes dark with lust and triumph, gripping John’s hair possessively and pulling him in for a kiss, “You belong to me.”


End file.
